Attended for my initial radiology appointment this morning. First, was taken in for a chat and then into the radiology room for measurements and calibrations to be taken. I was pushed and pulled around for about 15 minutes. They were having problems getting the machine at the right angle to cover the necessary area of my breast without affecting my heart. My arms were raised above my head but my right arm wasn’t fitted correctly into the arm rest. The radiotherapy equipment was massive, much bigger than the CT scanner. It also came down very close to my face making me quite claustrophobic. It will be scanning in 3 positions and will move around on its own into each position. No staff will be in the room while it does this. As it moved around to my right side, it almost brushed my right arm and would have crushed it if the nurse hadn’t been there. She moved my arm several times but finally, they decided it wasn’t possible to get the machine at the right angle and I was told I’d need another CT scan. To start with, I assumed they meant there and then which would have been fine with me. But no. Another appointment was to be booked. And then treatment was to be rescheduled.
I was a bit low about it. I’d got a timetable in my head for treatment, recovery, going back to work, moving house. Just, getting back to normal really. After months of illness and worrying about facing imminent death, I’d finally felt I was rejoining the land of the living. Now, however, it was looking as if I needed to revise the timetable but I decided to wait for them to contact me before I panicked.
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I took myself off to the fish quay in North Shields. I love it there. It’s a little cove at the mouth of the river Tyne. I love the way you can see the ocean through the mouth of the harbour. The water inside the walls is framed by cliffs with a memorial and a huge block of council flats. The beach itself is a gentle curve backed by huge boulders and a path that leads all the way round the cove to Tynemouth.
I’d planned to walk along the beach to calm myself down but the tide was in. It was sunny though and the sun was twinkling off the water so I sat in the car and watched the sea. After a while, I got a bit bored so read my book for a while. Tiring of that, I got out of the car to see how much the sea had gone out. Not enough to walk along the sand. The wind was also deceptively cold.
Giving up, I returned to the car and drove back to Newcastle. Taking S’s advice, I went to the greengrocer and stocked up on fruit and veg. S is a nurse and had told me that I could bring my neutrophils back up with healthy eating.
I love the shopping area of my neighbourhood. I live in the Asian area and the shops are full are people of all nationalities. In the green grocers, there were Asians, Muslims, Orientals, English and Africans. The Geordie staff are cheerful and dash about, flinging boxes of fruit and veg on the overhead storage and teasing the cashiers who know all the prices by heart.
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I lugged my bags home and rushed in to put the heating on. There were two letters on the doormat, both from the hospital. I’d previously requested copies of all correspondence so get a lot of mail from the various consultants, clinics and treatments that I have attended. I’m quite blasé about the correspondence now having got used to the stark details of my type and grade of cancer.
The first letter just detailed the last appointment I had with Dr. S. It referred to the lump I’d insisted on having scanned and biopsied and contained nothing I didn’t know.
I was pleased to see that the second letter was from the geneticist. I’ve been meaning to look for her details to get in touch to check the results of my tests. They took blood during a pre-chemo blood screening months ago. When I started reading, however, I was horrified to see that they’d identified changes in the BRCA1 gene in my tests. This means I have a genetic predisposition to cancer. It also means my daughter and nieces have it too. Unfortunately, I know the treatment for this because a member of the North East Breast Buddies group has the gene too. Her treatment is oophrectomy (removal of ovaries), which I’ve got no problem with. Cancer in them is hard to detect so they’re an unnecessary risk, given that I have no intention or desire to have more children. Other treatment, though, is double mastectomy and possibly hysterectomy. Major, daunting surgery. It was like a slap in the face. Cancer is bad enough. MAJOR mutilation of my body though was just too much to comprehend.
I put the letter aside and sent a text to R and several friends. As it was sending, the horror of the meaning of the letter hit me and I started to cry. Never mind a 3 week delay due to radiotherapy. I’m now looking at MONTHS worth of surgery and recovery time. And I don’t know what my chances of survival are either. It was like bloody déjà vu. Again and again since I’ve had cancer I’ve had to take on board frightening facts that frequently seem to lead to the suggestion of me dying. Hard enough to do it at all. Too hard to do it on my own.
I was shocked by R. Two matter of fact, unemotional and VERY unsupportive messages. No offer to come and sit with me. No phone call. Who is he again? My partner? As if things couldn’t get worse, he made sure they did. From where I was standing, or rather, lying, it looked very much as if he wouldn’t be sticking around much longer despite what he said to the contrary.
What would I do without friends though? The 4 friends I’d told were instantly on the phone with support and love. Even N, who was in a meeting, sent me a lengthy message and a promise to phone me later. K, bless her, my Breast Cancer Care friend, calmed me down and sorted me out. Her calm, supportive, rational approach was good. Of all people, she knows, bless her because she’s doing something similar herself.
How much more, though? How much more will I have to cope with, be brave about, learn to live with? This is SHIT.
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